


this is my winter song to you

by Lysippe



Series: The Worst Witch 2018 Winter Fluff-A-Thon [21]
Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017), The Worst Witch - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Hicsqueak, in which I'm pretty sure Pippa has SAD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-24 08:23:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17097215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lysippe/pseuds/Lysippe
Summary: Truthfully, their shared history was only half the reason for Pippa’s anxiety. As easily as the rituals of the Summer Solstice had always come to her, Pippa was genuinely uncertain whether or not she could even summon enough of her magic to successfully execute the Winter Solstice rituals. She had always come up with some excuse or another for why one of her staff members needed to lead the ritual they held each year with the students. It had been going on for so many years now, that her deputy headmistress had grown to assume that it was just one more duty required of her position. Pippa would have felt badly about it, under normal circumstances, but honestly, she would happily take any excuse she could to get out of having to do it herself. And if anyone had noticed or suspected anything, they mercifully kept it to themselves.But Hecate would notice. Hecate probably already knew. Hecate almost certainly remembered the way Pippa’s magic had felt that night, even so many years ago, reedy and brittle, as though it would snap off in their hands with one wrong word.





	this is my winter song to you

**Author's Note:**

> So this one kind of started with the vague intention of it being something along the lines of "Pippa actually hates the Winter Solstice," and then became "Pippa has seasonal affective disorder and that fucks shit up," and then it sort of became... this. I'm still not quite convinced that I did it right, or even did my idea justice, but it just sort of happened, and if nothing else, I'm quite fond of the concept behind this fic, so I'll take it.

Pippa had never quite been able to explain to anyone why it was that she hated the Winter Solstice so much. For most witches, Winter Solstice was as close to sacred as any holiday got. There were ceremonial spells to be cast, for good health and good fortune, for protection and gratitude. It was the time when most witches felt their magic more closely, more intimately than any other. 

But that had never been the case for Pippa. Every year, as the daylight waned, she felt as though she herself was waning along with it. If anything, her magic never felt farther away than in the dead of winter, more like a whisper of a distant memory than something that coursed through her veins like lifeblood. It started slowly, always, every year, as the days grew shorter and shorter. Her smile dimmed, and the brightness in her eyes faded, and the warmth she projected so naturally throughout the rest of the year became harder and harder to keep up. Sadness pulled at the corners of her mind, a deep seated melancholy that sat heavy in her chest and felt for all the world like it was trying to suffocate her.

Her parents had always told her that of course the darkness would be hard on someone with such a sunny disposition, and Pippa always knew they had been joking, trying to draw a smile out of their suddenly moody daughter. But some part of her had always wondered if there wasn’t some truth to it. If there wasn’t something profoundly wrong and unnatural about a witch who dreaded the Winter Solstice as much as she did. 

In their youths, it had only ever been Hecate who could manage to lighten Pippa’s mood. Hecate, whom Pippa was quite certain was not actually  _ trying  _ to cheer her up. Who was perfectly content to sit with her through the days when her entire world seemed to face to grey, even when Pippa would refuse to leave her bedroom for entire weekends at a time. Hecate had simply brought her own homework and forced Pippa to work with her on it. She was, truthfully, probably the reason Pippa had passed her winter exams each year. She even snuck food from dinner on the nights when Pippa couldn’t even bring herself to eat. It was the only time she could ever recall Hecate willingly breaking a rule.

In being the same Hecate she always was, the same beloved friend, who never asked anything of Pippa other than that she be herself, Hecate had brought the smallest bit of sunlight into Pippa’s darkest days. Pippa, who was quite sure that Hecate would have balked at the thought of anying thinking of her as anything resembling the sun, had never told her this. And in the weeks and months after Hecate had left her, Pippa had wished more than she could ever put into words that she had, even just once, pushed aside the pride and awkwardness and desperate, hopeless fear of Hecate ever knowing just how deeply Pippa loved her. That she had said  _ something _ \-- anything -- that might have made Hecate stay.

Those months had been the darkest of Pippa’s life, and when the Winter Solstice had come right on the heels of Hecate’s abandonment, Pippa had skipped it altogether for the first time in her life. Her form mistress had been furious, and gave Pippa a month of detentions, which she was present for only in body. But that, among a great many other things, had fallen victim to the creeping apathy that threatened to overtake her on a daily basis.

So, when Hecate had suggested -- with well-disguised trepidation that suggested to Pippa that she hadn’t quite forgotten the secondary significance of the holiday -- that she and Pippa might perform the rituals for the Winter Solstice, Pippa felt as though the blood had run straight out of her. It was a perfectly reasonable suggestion, and a common enough tradition for couples to perform Solstice rituals together. To join their magical energies in some profound way that transcended the day-to-day. To give thanks for the love they had to give, and that which they were able to receive. It wouldn’t even have been the first time they had performed the Solstice rituals together. 

It had been Pippa’s suggestion, during their fifth year at school. Their fifth year of friendship. That she might sneak into Hecate’s room after the school-sanctioned Solstice ceremony, which would be dreadfully long and painfully boring, as it was every year. That they might have their own, private ritual,  _ to bring us closer _ .

At the time, she had felt it was a rather bold move on her part. But Hecate had given her a confused look, brows furrowed and lips pursed in the way they always did when Pippa suggested some sort of rule-breaking, and said, “Do you feel as though we aren’t close enough?”

_ Yes _ , Pippa had wanted to say, had wanted, even then, to take Hecate by the shoulders, to stand on her tiptoes and press their lips together. To tell her, show her, how close she wanted them to be. And she almost had, in that moment, and in so many moments after. Pippa’s list of near-misses where Hecate was concerned had always been impressively long. But she had smiled, a bit more shakily than she would normally, and said, “Of course not, Hiccup. But it would be nice, don’t you think, to give thanks for whatever brought us together? Just you and me?”

“Unless my memory fails me, what brought us together was your abnormal stubbornness and determination to make friends with everyone under the sun.” Hecate’s words sounded sharper than Pippa knew they were, as they always did. But this time, Hecate seemed to realize it, and added, with a warmth that took Pippa by complete surprise, “But if it is so important to you, then yes. We can perform a Solstice ritual of our own.” Then, with some hesitation, “I certainly do have enough to be grateful for where you’re concerned.”

It was the first time Pippa had smiled all week.

And when Hecate had shown up at Pippa’s door -- claiming that she was much less likely to get caught sneaking into Pippa’s somewhat isolated tower room than Pippa was attempting to get into Hecate’s densely populated corridor, and that the relative quiet would be far more appropriate when performing the rituals -- Pippa had felt the beginnings of excitement bubbling up in her belly like the first blush of spring, color tinging the edges of her ever-graying world. 

Hecate, somber as ever, had lit the contraband candles Pippa had snuck from a storage closet in the basement, wordlessly taken Pippa by the hand, and led her to the altar. 

“Would you like me to start?”

Knowing Hecate was offering because she knew Pippa’s magic was at its weakest during the Solstice, Pippa had shaken her head firmly, her pride somewhat wounded. “No. This was my idea, I’ll start.”

In the years since, Pippa had long forgotten what she had said that night. She remembered far better what she didn’t say. That she had told Hecate how much she loved her in every way but for actually saying the words. That she had poured her heart out in the most useless way possible, and lost Hecate a year later anyway.

But what she remembered with perfect clarity, were Hecate’s serious eyes, focused intently on her magic. Her perfect intonation, as she chanted, matching the timbre of her voice to Pippa’s as though it were the most natural thing in the world to her. The sincerity laced into her words as she gave thanks, for Pippa, for their friendship that made her days bearable, for the one person who never asked her to be anything other than what she was. The rush of magic Pippa had felt, warm and familiar, even though it wasn’t her own, as Hecate made her own confessions, with only their joint magics as a witness.

Pippa wondered for years what had changed.

It was years after that when it first occurred to her that Hecate may have been trying in her own way, to say all of the things Pippa had also failed to say. But by that point, she was so enmeshed in hating Hecate, that anything that brought that into question was simply too painful to consider

It was a full thirty years after that night, that Pippa learned she had been right. And another six months before Hecate had presented her with a second chance.

And she must have noticed the panic welling up in Pippa’s throat at the thought, at the memory of her closest moment with Hecate, and everything that had happened after, because Hecate had simply said, “I thought that perhaps I could get it right, this time.”

Truthfully, their shared history was only half the reason for Pippa’s anxiety. As easily as the rituals of the Summer Solstice had always come to her, Pippa was genuinely uncertain whether or not she could even summon enough of her magic to successfully execute the Winter Solstice rituals. She had always come up with some excuse or another for why one of her staff members needed to lead the ritual they held each year with the students. It had been going on for so many years now, that her deputy headmistress had grown to assume that it was just one more duty required of her position. Pippa would have felt badly about it, under normal circumstances, but honestly, she would happily take any excuse she could to get out of having to do it herself. And if anyone had noticed or suspected anything, they mercifully kept it to themselves.

But Hecate would notice. Hecate probably already knew. Hecate almost certainly remembered the way Pippa’s magic had felt that night, even so many years ago, reedy and brittle, as though it would snap off in their hands with one wrong word. 

And Pippa’s fears were confirmed when Hecate, an unreadable expression clouding her features, reached out to grasp Pippa’s hand, icy fingers wrapping themselves around her own with surprising gentleness. “Without meaning to hurt your pride,” she said slowly, choosing her words carefully, mulling over each one as it passed her lips, “I… have enough magic to carry the ritual myself. It is something I wish to share with you. My magic, and my words, and… my heart.”

It was so vulnerable, so uncharacteristically candid, that Pippa was left at a complete loss for words. She allowed herself, as she had so many years ago, to be led by the hand, this time to Hecate’s altar. To be pulled to the ground, as Hecate summoned candles and lit them with a casual wave of her hand. To Pippa, it was almost painful to watch. But she had endured every Winter Solstice of her life, and she would endure this one. At least with Hecate sitting across from her, it would be a great deal more bearable than years past had been.

Hecate glanced at her meaningfully, and Pippa inclined her head, motioning for Hecate to begin the chant. It was insult to injury of the cruelest kind that even chanting, which had always come naturally to Pippa, was such a struggle. But she matched her tone to Hecate’s, and felt the controlled warmth of Hecate’s magic reaching out to her, pulling out wisps of her own where it could, and filling in the gaps where it couldn’t. 

Once the air was saturated with their combined magic, so intertwined that Pippa almost felt like she was back to her proper strength, Hecate stopped, and waited for Pippa to follow suit. When Hecate opened her mouth again, the words that came out were halting and unsteady, and Pippa realized with some curiosity that Hecate had not planned this, of all things. That her words were hers, with no forethought to dull the sentiment behind them.

“On this Winter Solstice,” she began, eyes downcast, “I give thanks for second chances… and for the opportunity to make amends for past misdeeds. I am grateful for forgiveness, and…” she took a deep, shuddering breath, “for the chance to make up for so many years of love lost to time.”

Pippa blinked furiously, refusing to let the tears gathering in her eyes fall, refusing to break her tenuous grip on the spell binding them together. Hecate had never been particularly verbose, had never been one for the grand romantic speeches that some witches and wizards favored. But while others often mistook that for uncaringness, Pippa knew her words for what they were. Knew the effort and energy that went into every expression of emotion, even with Pippa. Knew what it meant that Hecate had offered that up, of her own volition.

And Pippa, far more prone to wordiness and elaborate expressions of affection than Hecate would ever be, choked quite completely on her own words. “On this Winter Solstice,” she began, the words already flowing through her mind, to her tongue, sweet like spun sugar. But as quickly as they formed, the words melted away, and with a heavy sigh and deeply tired eyes, Pippa said, “Honestly, I’m just grateful for the opportunity to finally love you properly. I spent thirty years hating you just to mask how much missing you hurt. And I never realized how much I missed not doing that.”

Hecate said nothing, but allowed her magic to continue to wash over Pippa, not severing their connection until Pippa herself reluctantly removed one hand from Hecate’s, then the other. 

It was with a somewhat guilty expression that Pippa stifled a yawn with the back of her palm. “I’m sorry, Hiccup,” The embarrassment burned in her cheeks, frustration with her own exhaustion pricking at her nerves. “I’m quite tired, I suppose.”

“I’m not surprised.” Hecate’s voice contained no judgment, no irritation. Just a simple acceptance of the facts. “Perhaps it is time to get you into bed. I imagine that’s quite a bit more exertion than you’ve been up for.”

Pippa couldn’t quite keep the aggravation out of her voice. “It would seem so.”

Hecate offered a hand to Pippa, bracing her wordlessly as she stood shakily. She led Pippa to her bed, and silently performed the series of spells that Pippa had grown to recognize as her nightly ritual. A pointed finger to lock the door. An intricate wave of the wrist to swap her dress out for a nightgown. Another to do the same for Pippa. A silent snap of the fingers to put out the overhead light, and one more to light her bedside lamp. A downward gesture to pull her duvet down. And a hand, light and soft, pressed against Pippa’s sternum, pushing her gently down into the mattress. Magic for Hecate had never been a question. It was as innate, as reflexive to her as breathing. And Pippa thought, not for the first time about how terrifying it must have been for her to lose that, however briefly.

The weakness that accompanied the winter months was nothing new to Pippa, nothing she hadn’t dealt with every year for as long as she could remember, but it would have been something entirely new and terrifying to Hecate. Pippa wondered absently if Hecate had thought of her, when it happened. And she knew that Hecate remembered, that she understood and never judged and never questioned it. But there was something about allowing anyone, even Hecate, to see her like that, that made Pippa feel painfully raw, like all her protective layers had been scrubbed away. Like Hecate could see her, in a new, more vulnerable sense. Like Hecate now had a much keener sense of what this time of year meant for Pippa.

But Hecate, ever understanding, made no effort to engage Pippa in any sort of conversation on the matter. Instead, she slid into bed next to Pippa, maneuvering herself so that her body was pressed flush with Pippa’s. She placed one cool hand -- Hecate had always been cold, but Pippa found the familiarity of the touch oddly soothing -- at the base of Pippa’s spine, and let it linger there.

“Pippa?” 

The question came just as Pippa was on the verge of sleep. She squeezed her eyes tightly together, then forced them open, but didn’t move her head from where it rested in the crook of Hecate’s neck. “Hm?” Pippa felt the breath the caught in Hecate’s chest, and placed a quick kiss on her shoulder blade to encourage her.

It was several seconds before Hecate spoke again. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Pippa had an idea already of what the answer was, but she needed to know, needed to make sure.

“For giving me a second chance. For… allowing me to try to make things right.”

Pippa didn’t say that that was never a question. That Hecate could have come back to her at any point in the last thirty years, and been granted just about anything she asked for. That as hard as Pippa had tried, she had always failed quite miserably at actually hating Hecate for what she had done. Instead, she tucked her head deeper into Hecate’s shoulder, allowed herself to be pulled in by strong, steady arms, and mumbled, “I love you, Hiccup.”

And the last thing she heard before drifting into a dreamless sleep was Hecate, lips pressed to the crown of her head, whispering, “I love you, too. Always.”

**Author's Note:**

> Join me on Tumblr @ thebestdressedrebelinhistory


End file.
